


Things Said

by dramamelon



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance, far too silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 14:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11404137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramamelon/pseuds/dramamelon
Summary: A couple of prompt answers centered around Jazz and Prowl. :)





	1. I Trust the Math

**Author's Note:**

> Written last year and put up on my tumblr, but I'm only just now getting around to posting them here. Oops.
> 
> Jazz and Prowl #16? — anon  
>  _things you said with no space between us_

It was like out of those corny old superhero comics and shows that Sideswipe subjected the whole crew to on far too often occasion. Here Jazz was, dangling above a molten pit of… something—Jazz wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it smelled like slag warmed over mixed with that cotton candy stuff humans had at their carnivals. Even better, he was bound, chest to chest, with his favorite tactician. All right, he actually liked the second part. “Prowl, can I just—”

“No, Jazz,” Prowl interrupted before Jazz could get anywhere. He had been struggling, but the heat no doubt had him as woozy as Jazz felt right then. “I’m afraid it would be highly inappropriate at the moment, if not physically impossible.”

Jazz paused, frowning. “What are you talkin’ about? You don’t even have the slightest clue what I was gonna say.”

“I _know_ what you were going to say, Jazz,” Prowl said, jaw firm and shoulders set despite their predicament, “and this is most definitely _not_ the time for it.”

Jazz narrowed his optics behind his visor, not that Prowl could see, even from this close. “And just how do you know what I was gonna say, Prowler?”

“Because I know you.” The look Prowl gave him now was veering sharply into the beginnings of exasperation. “Also, I figured the odds and they are against you being even remotely appropriate. I trust the math.”

A corner of Jazz’s mouth quirked upward before he could stop it. This was going to be good. “More than you trust me?”

“I didn’t say that.” Oh, Prowl wasn’t going to play this hand easy, Jazz was well-aware. And speaking of hands, Jazz struggled against the thick cable wrapped around them until he managed to shift his hands forward enough to rest, just barely, over the (too) warm plating of Prowl’s hips. Prowl didn’t protest.

Jazz vented heavily as the rising heat from below continued baking his internals. With a look he knew came across as tired on top of the smile he managed, he met Prowl’s optics and said, “Considerin’ our current life or death situation, I was gonna say I love you.”

“…oh,” Prowl replied, obviously perturbed to be caught out as the naughtier of the pair this time. Condensation formed on his temples, quickly evaporating in the too dry air. “Well, I suppose, perhaps, that’s not as inappropriate as I thought it would be.”

“Yeah, oh.” Mustering up a small chuckle, Jazz asked, “Just what did you _think_ I was going to say?”

Prowl stared him down silently for a breem before he answered. “I plead the Fifth.”

“Plead the Fifth?” Jazz suddenly found himself chortling with more energy than he thought he had left. “Prowler, mech, you’re unbelievable.”

“I fail to see what’s so funny in this situation, Jazz,” Prowl reprimanded him. He squirmed under Jazz’s hands now as if to get away from him, as useless as the attempt was.

“You, Prowl,” Jazz informed him around a few more sniggers and shaking his head a little at the rising silliness of their rather dire situation. “ _You_ are what’s so funny.”

Prowl fell to simply looking at him again, quiet and introspective enough to settle Jazz into giving him an inquisitive look of his own. He waited for Prowl to say whatever was on his mind. “Jazz?”

“Yeah, Prowl?”

“I love you, too.”

The words filled Jazz’s processor and led to a smile stretched across his face, but his reply was interrupted by the sound of blaster fire and the door of the chamber slammed open somewhere below them. Rescue!

“Prowl! Jazz! Oh, slag,” came the voice of Sideswipe—of _course_ he was part of the rescue team. He devolved into a round of cackling, peppered now and then with more shots from his blaster. “This is amazing! It’s like an episode of Batman!” His words were muffled a bit as he leaned back out into the hall. “Hey, Smokey! Dude! You’ve gotta see this!”

The sigh Prowl released was a physical thing, every bit of him deflating a bit against Jazz. His optics met Jazz’s even despite the visor hiding them, a tired little smile curving his mouth. “We’ll finish this later?”

“Yeah,” Jazz agreed. “Later.”


	2. Make Me Blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I know you already did jp but pretty please Jazz/Prowl 35?^ω^   
> _things you said at the top of your lungs_

“How do these things keep happening to us?” Prowl muttered to himself, optics half-shuttered in annoyance at the disaster that was his life. “I swear, we must be cursed.”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY, PROWLER? DIDN’T HEAR IT!”

Prowl winced and tried not to glare at Jazz too hard. It wasn’t as if Jazz had purposely blown out his audials with no Ratchet—or any other medically inclined person, at all—around to repair them. Both of them had managed to fry their comms, as well, though using a comm line was inadvisable with the possible presence of Soundwave. Of course, Jazz could have been more careful of his volume, as well, being entirely aware of his own injuries. As a mechanical lifeform, it was entirely within his ability to gauge exactly what level his vocalizer was working at and keep it appropriate to the situation. Sitting at the bottom of a deep, rocky ravine while waiting for a rescue team—ugh, _again_ —while snapped wires sparked and energon flowed from sliced fuel lines didn’t exactly strike Prowl as the best time to have the volume slider maxed out. If the Decepticons still lingered in the vicinity, Jazz would lead them right to their location.

“PROWL, C’MON, TALK TO ME HERE!”

While Cybertronians didn’t technically need to breathe, the act of sucking in air and releasing it through their vents certainly had a way of helping one maintain calm. Prowl took advantage of the fact and cycled through a slow series of invents and exvents before taking on the adventure of speaking to Jazz in his current condition. “Jazz,” he said, enunciating to the best of his ability, shaping the words with utmost care, “I need you to lower your vocalizer.”

“WHAT?” Jazz responded, a look of confusion on his face. “I CAN’T HEAR YA AT ALL.”

That was it, Prowl decided, keeping his expression carefully blank so as not to reveal his intentions to Jazz. He would suspect something, of course, seeing as it _was_ Jazz, but Prowl knew from long experience how to get the jump on the long roster of the best Spec Ops had to offer—including Jazz.

“HOLD UP, PROWLER,” Jazz said, eyeing him closely with an air of caution that felt thick enough to cut with an electroblade. “I CAN SEE THE GLITCHMICE TURNING THE WHEELS IN THAT BRAIN MODULE OF YOURS. WHAT ARE YOU UP TO?”

Prowl clenched his fists and his jaw, then flung his hands at Jazz’s helm, catching him round the face. He dragged Jazz in and, before the suddenly flailing mech could do more than produce a loud squawk, latched onto Jazz’s mouth with his own. Fortunately, like usual, Jazz caught on quickly and happily went along with the kiss, taking it as deep as Prowl allowed him.

Which wasn’t nearly deep enough if the annoyed grunt when Prowl pulled away was anything to judge by—a fact that Prowl easily admitted gave him a feeling of utter smug, as Sideswipe would have phrased it. (He really needed to stop spending so much time around Sideswipe, honestly.) Pressing a finger against Jazz’s lips before they could start moving again, Prowl met Jazz’s optics and spoke again, keeping his tone barely above a murmur. “I know you can’t hear me right now, but you need to shut up. I say that with all the love I have for you, which is substantial.”

And then it happened. That strange, free-floating sensation? This was what it felt like to have the carpet ripped out from under him, Prowl surmised when Jazz’s face melted into a grin to out-smug them all.

“Aw, Prowler,” he purred no louder than Prowl had just spoken, his lips moving under the press of Prowl’s finger, “keep that up and you’re gonna make me blush.”

“…you heard every word I said.” It was a statement of fact, not an accusation. All right, it was _partially_ an accusation because Jazz deserved it.

“Every last syllable.” As impossible as it seemed, that grin of his grew even more smug.

A twitch near started the corner of Prowl’s right optic as he considered all the danger Jazz risked for what? A joke? “Dammit, Jazz—”

“Prowl, what’s the issue? There’s no one around but us and you’re acting like….” Jazz paused and frowned a little, leaning closer to brush a hand along Prowl’s temple. Jazz frowned a little and leaned closer. He brushed a hand along Prowl’s temple, bringing both their attention to the damage there. “I was gonna ask if there’s something wrong with your sensors. Considering the look of that dent, I’m guessing there must be.”

Doing his best not to flinch away from the contact, Prowl sent a query to his sensor array and found it was indeed out of commission. He went with another play of breath, a heavy sigh, and gave Jazz a probing look. “You’re right. I didn’t notice in my concern for you. Are you sure there’s no danger?”

“Absolutely,” Jazz assured him. “Even got pings on our guys coming in from the south end of the ravine. Should be here any time soon.”

The tension that had riddled Prowl’s frame vanished, letting him slump in relief. The smile on Jazz’s face was a whole lot less insulting this time when he looked at it. Prowl couldn’t help himself and quirked up one corner of his mouth in reply. “What are you smiling at now?”

Jazz shrugged one shoulder a little, reaching out to slide a palm across Prowl’s knee, careful of the sparks leaping off a broken wire in the joint. “Say it again, sweetspark? Make me blush?”


End file.
